A Morning of Peace

I am sitting on one of the small tables in the San Pedro market in Cusco, Peru. In front of me a huge cup of freshly brewed, hot, damping chocolate milk and a avocado cheese sandwich, my daily one dollar breakfast. Around me the scenery unfolds itself in such a beauty that time seems to stand still as I voyeur it.

In my ears the sound of a folk music band with an accordion and a guitar is terrible, but somehow blends wonderful with its surroundings. The ladies of the mini food stalls (each takes up only a wide of one and a half meters) try to charm the walking crowds to their tables, addressing each one individually. Women are addressed Mamiiiii, so the shouts that mix with the accordion sound like “Mamiiiiii, siiiii venir aquí, ayyyy Mamiiii!”.

Other employees (the small stalls hold up to four employees, all women) scoop jelly in various colors of the rainbow out of huge buckets into ice cream cups and stack them to glibbery, shaking pyramids on the counter. Some of the women carry children wrapped in towels on the back, their curious content eyes glimpse out of the towels, they are hardly ever seen crying. The children are close to their mom, always ready to be breastfed, but still the mom is able to make a living and carry out a work. Imagine an employee of Starbucks would suggest taking her toddler to work…

An old man with a wrinkled face, which testifies a moved life, taps me now on the shoulder, reaching his hand out for money. I scrap some coins from the bottom of my wallet together and let them drop into his hand. Now a smile spreads across his face, moves all his hundreds of wrinkles and reaches his warm eyes, revealing his one tooth left. I am not sure whom of us gave the other more. I take a big zip of my chocolate and think about how lucky I am to be able to travel.

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